A Season in Purgatory
by M C Pehrson
Summary: "Pinehaven" Story #6 Spock's eldest son, Simon, must face the consequences of his behavior after he returns from his affair with the alluring T'Asha.


Coming home is not always easy—not when you've gone and made a spectacle of yourself and you feel like skulking in through the back door like a cowering dog. That was exactly how Simon felt when he returned to Earth and quietly made his way to his sister's door in Pinehaven, Idaho. No doubt about it, Tess had deserved first consideration when it came to apologies. All his life, he had treated her badly, but if not for her steadfast belief in him, he would still be back on Primus Colony under T'Asha's sensual spell. But that was another story.

Tess being Tess, she readily forgave him and he returned to his rented air car grateful for the promise of her prayers. Now he was driving slowly through the mountains, well below the speed limit, in no hurry to reach the Yanashite compound at Plum Creek and face his father. But eventually he arrived, parked behind the seminary building, and stepped out of the car.

The autumn day was so still that he could hear water gently flowing in the nearby creek. For a moment he just stood there, heart racing, unaware that Tess had called ahead to help smooth the way.

"Be kind to him," she had begged Spock. "It wasn't really his fault. That Vulcan woman set out to control his mind. She made him leave his wife and run off with her. She made him abandon the priesthood." Of course, Spock had already heard that version of the scandalous events from his brother Nayo, who exposed T'Asha's plot through a mindmeld. But as in all things, Spock preferred not to formulate an opinion until Simon presented his side of the facts.

They met in the seminary office. As Simon entered, Spock rose from behind his desk where he had been reviewing some new curriculum for the upcoming session. For a moment they just looked at one another, and then Simon broke down and wept. By the time the ordeal was over, they had reached enough of an understanding to reconcile, though Spock did not share Tess's belief that Simon was completely innocent.

Parting from him, Simon went into the cabin to see his stepmother. Their reunion went even more smoothly than he had anticipated. T'Naisa took one look at his downcast face and offered a plate of oatmeal cookies, fresh from the oven. Then seated at the kitchen table, they discussed his likely new assignment: perhaps here at Plum Creek, or a remote posting among the kangaroos in Australia's Outback. Simon was hoping for the Outback, but that very day his superior called him to Phoenix Temple to face the congregation he had abandoned along with his wife.

In Simon's absence, a new pastor had been installed—a gray-haired fellow, 147 years of age. His name was Batok and neither he, nor his aged wife, nor Simon's former assistant had much respect for a faithless priest, and it showed. Being three-quarters human but with a full share of Vulcan pride, Simon felt as if he had landed in Purgatory. All the least desirable tasks fell to him. Mental contact with females was strictly forbidden, and when he stood his turn as men's confessor, very few came. He no longer instructed the children, and outside the classroom, youngsters avoided him as if they had been warned by their parents. Before long a petition circulated, requesting his removal from the parish, but the pastor ruled that there was no reasonable cause. So the Yanashites kept their eyes on Simon, watching and waiting for some misstep that would validate their suspicions.

The first time Simon saw his estranged wife, the jolt to his system made him queasy. He was finishing the early morning Kuru, and as he blessed the congregation, he spied Dane off by herself in a dim corner of the temple. She looked so lonely and isolated that he could not help but think how much his behavior had humiliated her. His heart ached with regret, and deep down in his bonding center there was a terrible pulling sensation, like a rubber band stretching too tight. Maybe it would snap in two, or maybe it would drew her back to him, but the tugging hurt so badly that he wondered how he could go on living like this.

It was a brisk and breezy day. The air was gritty with dust as he left the temple grounds and followed Dane around the corner to their home on Eleventh Street. Before Devon was born, Dane had grown impatient with the lack of privacy in the priests' residence, so they had moved here and life had been good to them.

Now, with pounding heart, Simon picked up his pace and began to close on her. Dane turned up the walkway. She was almost to the door when he called out her name from the sidewalk and she spun around. Her eyes spat fire as the wind caught her golden hair and carried the scent of her perfume to him.

"What are you doing here?" she said through her teeth.

"Dane," he pleaded.

She did not fall into his arms and invite him inside where it was warm. Why should she welcome the unfaithful man who had demanded a divorce, then called her cold and selfish when she refused? So be it. He would speak his piece right out here in the open, regardless of who might be peeking from the neighbor's windows.

"Dane, sweetheart," he choked, "I'm so sorry…"

Abruptly she turned away, saying, "I have things to do."

"No…wait!" As the appeal burst from him, she hesitated, one hand on the door latch. "I can't stand this," he anguished. "The stress is making me sick."

With scathing sarcasm, she looked him full in the face and said, "Poor baby."

He couldn't blame her. Yes, he tended toward hypochondria, but he really did feel a tickle in his throat, and as he began to cough, there was a soreness deep in his chest. Maybe a fever was brewing, too, and he would be flat on his back in bed, all alone, because no one here in Phoenix cared whether or not he lived.

Imagining the unhappy scenario, he said, "It would serve me right if I die of this."

The words only served to inflame her anger. "Nothing's changed," she exploded. "It's still all about you, isn't it? Always the victim. Never mind the agony you've caused me…or our daughter…or anyone else!"

Simon's temper flared. "It wasn't my fault! I didn't know what that girl was up to!" But his conscience pricked him, for early on, he had felt an attraction to the exquisite T'Asha. Right then he should have avoided her, especially in the matter of confession. But that would have meant confiding in his assistant, and he would rather have lost his eyesight than appear morally weak. He had not understood that pride itself was the worst form of blindness.

Without another word, Dane went into the house and shut the door behind her.

oooo

Simon caught Vulcan hell from Batok for leaving the temple grounds without permission. The pastor kept him on a tight leash, lest he take up with the first young siren who came his way. More and more he felt like a paroled convict, but he did not dare complain about the atmosphere of distrust. People rightly expected their priests to respect the vows of marriage and safeguard the innocence of the young.

Day by day, his cough grew worse and settled deeper into his chest. One night he went to bed feeling a little nauseous, and the next morning he awoke feverish and dizzy, each breath paining him so badly that he stayed under the covers. All his adult life, he had run to the doctor at the first threat of a germ, but this time he was determined to fight sickness like a man—with plenty of liquids and an aspirin or two.

The pastor was well aware of Simon's hypochondria and scarcely spared him a glance. _Leave it to Simon S'chn T'gai to collapse under a cold virus. A play for sympathy,_ Batok logically surmised. Well, the aged pastor would not put up with those antics for long, even if Simon _did_ come from an influential family.

Meanwhile, Simon lay in lonely misery, trying to keep down the tumblers of juice brought to him by the housekeeper, but most of it came back up. Each breath became a painful struggle, and in the fog of his mind he was back on Eleventh Street, reliving his own dire premonition. _Flat on my back, all alone…nobody caring whether I live or die._ Half delirious, he cried out for Dane so loudly that the housekeeper began to wonder if this was something more than a ploy for attention.

Getting Dane on the phone, she said, "Maybe you should come take a look at Simon—he's acting pretty sick."

Dane sighed. "I wouldn't worry if I were you. Simon always thinks he's sick."

"But this time he _looks_ sick… _really_ sick…and he's been asking for you, Mrs. S'chn T'gai."

 _So now I'm his wife,_ Dane thought crossly and ended the call. But as she finished her rehearsal at the Philharmonic, she got to thinking about the little boy who cried wolf. What if Simon really was sick this time? What if he just languished there in his bed and died because his fellow priests were fools and his wife was too bitter to go check on him? Would she want that on her conscience?

So she called the housekeeper back and said, "Okay, hold on, I'm coming."

The drive from downtown took her just over ten minutes. Expecting to find Simon in the throes of some minor malady, she headed upstairs to the little room where they had spent the first months of their marriage. She'd had her fill of him constantly obsessing over every sniffle and pain. She was not about to fall for one of his acts, not after what he done to her, even if T'Asha _was_ some sort of agent out to make the Yanashites look bad. When it came to illness, Simon was hopelessly neurotic. His whole family knew it, but they put up with him, just the same. Well, she was not any blood kin of his, and she did not have to put up with him anymore. Besides, if he were really, truly sick, he would have wasted no time getting hold of a doctor.

She knocked firmly at his door, but there was no answer, so she went in. One look at him and the bitter shell of her heart shattered into a million pieces. Simon was deathly ill, and nothing else mattered as she raised her wrist phone to her mouth and stammered out an emergency call. All the way to the hospital, she clung to his limp hand, frightened out of her mind while the EMT plied her with questions.

"Yes…yes, I'm his wife. How long has he been like this?" She felt ashamed to admit it. "I don't know. Can't you do something for him? He can't breathe!"

"We're administering Triox, ma'am. His oxygen count is a little higher."

Then why was he still wavering on the edge of consciousness, gasping for air like a stranded fish?

At St. Luke's Medical Center, the staff doctor quickly examined Simon. Turning to Dane, he spoke in a conversational voice, as if they were sitting around drinking coffee together. "He's quite the violinist. I caught a concert of his a year or so back. Heck of a composer, too." At least he made no mention of the patient's scandalous escapade with T'Asha.

Dane drew in a shaky breath. "Will he…?"

"Oh, he'll be fine. It's just pneumonia—a stubborn strain native to Primus Colony. His move back to Earth brought an abrupt change in atmosphere, and there's that dusty wind we've been having. He should have gotten to a clinic right away." Preparing a hypo of medication, he shrugged. "But I know how stubborn some men can be, when it comes to doctors…" Then he pressed home the injection and admitted Simon into Intensive Care.

oooo

Simon spent three days in the hospital recovering the use of his lungs. He despised sickness, but it was almost worthwhile, the way Dane talked to him so lovingly. Their daughter Devon paid a visit, as well as his sister T'Beth, who lived in nearby Scottsdale. Even old Batok checked up on him, but Dane was a steady presence, only leaving his side to fulfill her orchestra commitments.

When they were alone, Simon told her, "I was a fool to leave you. I don't know what I was thinking."

And with tears in her eyes, she said, "It was that girl—she did it. You hardly knew what was happening."

He coughed then and grimaced from a spasm of pain.

"Poor thing," Dane said, tenderly stroking his dark wavy hair, "you'll feel a lot better when we get you home."

 _Home?_ The breath caught in his throat. _Their own little haven on Eleventh Street?_ Hoping against hope, he said, "Darling, I love you. I've never loved anyone but you, and I want us to be together again."

Leaning over, she kissed him on the forehead.

The very next morning, Simon returned to Eleventh Street, and it was like entering through the gates of Paradise. All the simple domestic pleasures took on a wonderful glow. Best of all were those evenings when Dane was free and they could tune their violins and make music together, just the two of them, like in the early days of their marriage.

Now that they were living together as man and wife, a change slowly came over the Phoenix congregation. Looking to Dane, they followed her lead and began to accept Simon back into their lives. A woman would know if her husband merited forgiveness, and if Dane felt she could trust Simon, they were willing to give him another chance. It was the way of Yanash, they reminded one another, for the path to God was one of kindly forbearance.

oooOOooo


End file.
